


How I have dreamed of you, darling

by Apuzzlingprince



Series: Witcher Fanfics [21]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Jealousy, M/M, Mind Control, Non-Consensual Kissing, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:21:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22291768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: “I want to check something,” he said after a long moment, drawing a few unsullied handkerchiefs from his pocket. “Smile for me. Gently.”Geralt did. His lips stretched into a small, warm smile, like those he extended Yennefer, and Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat.Who ever said you can't always get what you want?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Fanfics [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1057313
Comments: 39
Kudos: 334





	How I have dreamed of you, darling

**Author's Note:**

> So one of Jaskier's wishes being 'make this lady love me' gave me a horrible, horrible idea for a fic.

It’d been months since he and Geralt had parted ways. Or rather, since Geralt had discarded him as a travelling companion. It wasn’t _abnormal_ for Geralt to suggest they part ways after a misadventure, but their last encounter had been the first time Geralt had insisted upon it with such vitriol. The rejection left a bitter taste in his mouth and it was only exacerbated by Geralt's easy camaraderie with Mousesack and Borch and his relationship with Yennefer. None of them had tried nearly as hard as Jaskier to endear themselves to Geralt, and yet Geralt liked them. He liked them more than Jaskier. He didn't treat them like a _nuisance_. 

When his audience asked why his time with Geralt was so scarce – which often came up following a performance – Jaskier would simply tell them their paths rarely had reason to converge. His music featured Geralt often enough that he was sure it was apparent he was lying to the more discerning among his audience, but it satisfied most peoples curiosity, so it was an excuse he maintained.

He did eventually find himself in the Witcher's company again. Not under the circumstances he would have liked, mind, since they seemed to be in the habit of finding each other while one or both of them were in dire straits (which _may_ have been partially manufactured by Jaskier straying closer to danger whenever he heard whisper of a Witcher).

Geralt wasn't happy to see him. Granted, the visible displeasure probably had more to do with Jaskier being in the bowels of an Imtrolum hive than his general disfavour of Jaskier. The Imtrolum were worthy of his displeasure, being vicious little bastards with a talent for mind control and a penchant for drawing humans to their nests for feeding and breeding purposes (the bodies of humans were, unpleasantly enough, favourable incubators for these beasts). One bite from them and you lost your autonomy. Deep enough, and you had the potential to lose it permanently. Jaskier had heard many a story of men who'd been rescued from Imtrolum, only to persist in enacting their final order viciously and repeatedly until they were either put out of their misery or their efforts killed them. Such stories had become few and far between over the past century, courtesy of Witcher's, but every few years a story of a new attack did spread throughout the North.

He was lucky Geralt had interrupted the Imtrolum's capture of Jaskier with the application of his sword. The bulk of the nest was dead, and the few remaining Imtrolum were in their death throes. They had fallen easily beneath Geralt' sword. Jaskier looked down at the corpses at his feet with a shudder. They were emancipated, lanky things with sickly grey skin and beady eyes. Their pointed ears protruded like knives from the side of their head and their teeth were as jagged as icicles. They didn't bleed red, like humans, but something that looked and smelt like oil. Jaskier picked himself up from the floor to put distance between himself and the bodies, his stomach squirming at the sight of viscera sloughed across the ground. He’d never been up close to this kind of gore before. He hadn’t realised organs would continue to pulsate once outside the body.

“Geralt.” He turned to the man, who was kneeling on the ground with his bloodied forearm pressed to his chest. “Geralt, are you alright?”

“I would've been had you not gotten yourself captured.” Geralt groaned softly and sat back on his haunches, carefully peeling away the torn leather of his gauntlets to check the flesh beneath. His eyes were hazy and unfocused. “I had a plan, Jaskier, and now I’m… shit…”

Jaskier closed his eyes and took an unsteady breath. Tried not to be upset, because Geralt was right. He’d gotten himself caught, he’d forced Geralt to abandon good sense in favour of ensuring Jaskier didn’t end up the Imtrolum’s latest meal or egg storage. He deserved this particular criticism.

“You’re hurt,” he said, approaching to kneel before Geralt, who snorted at the observation.

“What gave it away? The copious amount of blood?”

“Don’t be petulant. I want to help you.” He didn’t have any bandages to offer, but he did keep water and handkerchiefs on hand. “Give me your arm. I’ll clean it.” Surprisingly, Geralt closed his mouth and extended his arm. Jaskier was so startled by the compliance that it took him a good minute to start cleaning the wound.

“Geralt,” he said, hesitant. “These creatures are venomous, right? I've read about them. How does that work?”

“It’s in their teeth,” Geralt answered. He looked blearily at Jaskier. “In their premolars. All four of them.”

"Does it wear off?"

"After a few hours."

Jaskier squinted down at the wound as he dislodged drying, glutinous blood and dirt to unveil a jagged bite mark. The sight of it wasn’t surprising, nor did it elicit great panic in him. The enemy was dead, no longer a concern, so he needn’t fear Geralt’s state being taken advantage of.

“I want to check something,” he said after a long moment, drawing a few unsullied handkerchiefs from his pocket. “Smile for me. Gently.”

Geralt did. His lips stretched into a small, warm smile, like those he extended Yennefer, and Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat.

“So the venom, it's... it's compelling you to do whatever I say?”

Geralt nodded, and Jaskier didn’t quite know how to feel about that. This was pleasant. He hated that it was, that he was enjoying Geralt’s passive behaviour, that this was the only time Geralt would welcome his company without complaint, but he couldn’t deny that it felt good. He liked Geralt’s smile. He liked that, in this moment, it was for _him_.

"I see. I'll have to be careful about what I say, then." He licked his lips. "It'll keep you calm, at least. You're always so fussy when I'm checking you for injuries." 

Without indulging in further preamble, which was often Jaskier's wont, he extended a hand and ran his fingers over the jut of Geralt’s jaw, along the slight bristles there and into the soft mess of his hair. The claim he was doing this to check Geralt for injuries wasn't fooling anyone, least of all himself, but he couldn't resist. He'd never been allowed this close to Geralt before. He was a marvel of a man with those luminescent gold eyes, long lashes, pink lips and distinctive white hair. Clearly handsome, masculine, but pretty as well. The features people so often detested Geralt for – the white hair and cat eyes – were features that had always appealed to Jaskier, and it was nice to have an opportunity to properly appreciate them.

“You’re attractive, you know,” he said, knowing full well Geralt wouldn’t respond. “I’ve always thought so. I’ve always liked you. Even before Yennefer, I liked you. And I was the only one; I know you didn’t have friends before me.”

Geralt said nothing, his brow slowly knitting.

“Even when you pushed me away, I was there for you.” His voice grew in volume as he continued. “And you... you never showed me any appreciation. Always criticised me, complained about me, tried to make me go away. You don’t do that with Yennefer, so why me? Why don’t you like me?” A moments pause, then he added, “Tell me. Tell me why you don’t like me.”

“I do like you,” said Geralt. “But you’re overbearing and thoughtless, particularly toward women and towards Yen, and I only have so much patience.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Well, forgive me for caring about how you're treated by a former lover.”

“That isn’t caring,” said Geralt, his voice frustratingly measured. Jaskier knew it was the venom, but it annoyed him all the same. “That’s being obnoxious.”

“And you’re crotchety. We all have our problems, but I don’t take my frustration out on you.” His voice shook as he spoke. “Yennefer’s abrasive, and judgemental, and inconsiderate, and I don’t see you treating her like you treat me!”

“I accommodate her sharp edges because I understand her and I love her,” said Geralt simply.

A knot formed in Jaskier’s throat at that response. It was exceptionally hard to force out his next words. “You don’t love me, then?”

“No. I love Yennefer.” It seemed to take great effort, but Geralt gently folded his fingers over the ones buried in his hair. His smile was still present, but his furrowed brow belied it. “I’m... I'm sorry, Jaskier, but I-“

“No,” Jaskier burst out. “Don’t. Don’t say it. Don’t speak. I’ve been- for decades, Geralt, I’ve-“ He cut off and tried to recover some composure, taking deep breaths. “I’ve wanted you so badly," he whispered. "Don’t tell me reciprocation isn’t possible. Gods, Geralt, I want you to want me. I want you to want me so much.”

A strange, strangled sound squeezed out of Geralt’s throat at those words and the fingers on his began to tremble. Jaskier looked up, eyes wide, and it dawned on him what was happening. Sirens could make men fall in love with them; it only made sense that the venom of Imtrolum could produce the same outcome.

“You can want me.” He breathed. “You _can_ want me.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt choked out, visibly tense, a vein prominent on his left temple.

“Want me,” he said, slipping both his hands into Geralt’s hair, gripping tight to compel eye-contact. Geralt’s eyes were wide, horror-struck, but Jaskier didn’t let that deter him. “Want me. Want me.” He needed this request to burrow deep. He needed it to stick.

Geralt’s teeth bit into his bottom lip hard enough to draw a thin rivulet of blood.

“Want me.” Jaskier gently brought their foreheads together. “Want me. Want me. Want me, Geralt.” Geralt continued to resist, breathing in harsh pants, and it occurred to Jaskier then that he was missing the most important element to being wanted: “Love me.”

The moment these words were spoken, he felt the resistance fade from Geralt. His grip slackened, his muscles relaxed. The alarm in his eyes was last to go, and Jaskier thought maybe he was having a beautiful dream as Geralt bent forward to press their lips together.

Geralt shuddered as the last of his resistance faded, overtaken by a choking infatuation.

Maybe he was having a nightmare.


End file.
